Blighted Son
by Unicadia
Summary: Waiting in the Halls of Mandos, Caranthir tells his story in an attempt to clear his name. T for violence and thematic elements. Sorry, I will not be finishing this.
1. Preface

**5/16/18: I am taking this story through a bunch of much-needed editing, so there will be some slight changes to the way some things happen, but it will still essentially be the same story.**

 **Hello all! This is an experiment; I do not know if I will be able to finish it. Please bear with me and enjoy if you can!**

 **Much love,**

 **Unicadia**

* * *

Ammë never told me, but I know she did not expect me to come out the way I did. I can imagine her face, the midwife's face, Atar's face, all looming over me, confused at the ugly reddish creature sleeping in my mother's arms. They were expecting something more along the lines of my three elder brothers, all breathtakingly handsome in their own ways. They expected red hair like Maitimo, wise dark eyes like Maka, or porcelain skin like Tyelko. And, no doubt, they expected me to cry when I was born. I would shed many tears in my life, but I had none for my first day in the world.

One thing I do know, though. My parents did not find me attractive, and their names for me reflected that sentiment. Atar named us all after grandfather Finwë, with appropriate prefixes, but he called me _Morifinwë,_ dark Finwë. Mothers usually waited a while before giving their children names, but right off Ammë called me _Carnistir,_ red-faced, which I hated because it was true, but loved because my mother gave it to me. My skin became worse as I grew older. It did not remain consistently reddish-brown, but turned patchy, especially on my face. The maidens always preferred my brothers, older and younger, to me.

"Why are you always so angry, Moryo?" people asked.

"Does he ever smile?" people whispered to my parents when they thought I couldn't hear them.

I did smile, rarely.

I am Prince Morifinwë Carnister Fëanorion of the Noldor, known as Caranthir the Dark in Middle Earth. I have spent an Age in the Timeless Halls, and Mandos still refuses me leave to depart. Not many love me, but I must needs set the histories straight. I am here to plead my case.

* * *

 _ **Last edited: 5/16/18**_


	2. Chapter I

My first memory of my brother Tyelkormo was on the begetting day he received his horse, Alcarë. I was three years old, but as soon as I set eyes on Alcarë, tall and golden as Laurelin, I fell in love with him. Tyelko took Alcarë for a ride, with me trailing wide-eyed behind, upon his grudgingly telling Ammë he would watch me. We went beyond Tirion to the wide fields and woods where the Noldor hunted. Tyelko's favorite spot was a circular clearing between the forest and a cliff which fell into the sea below.

I watched breathlessly as Tyelko tightened the girth and swung into the gilt saddle. He grinned down at me, holding the reins in one hand. I ran up to him and tugged on his trousers. "Let me ride with you, Tyelko!" I begged.

The grin disappeared and he glared. "Stay back. I'm not going to let a baby ruin my first ride." He pushed me with his boot and I sat down hard in the grass.

"I'm not a baby!"

Tyelkormo ignored me and signaled Alcarë into a gallop. He pounded around and around the clearing, flashing me a superior grin. I stuck out my tongue at him and crossing my arms in a show of displeasure, stomped away to the edge of the cliff. From faraway, I heard Tyelko's voice: "Moryo, stop!"

I turned and glared at him. He was galloping toward me, a strange look on his face. As he came closer, I jumped aside, about to yell at him, when the ground slipped from beneath my feet and I fell over the cliff.

"Moryo!"

I screamed. The cliff spun away from me, and there was Tyelko leaning over, arms outstretched, becoming smaller and smaller. The wind fell past me, tearing at my ugly skin, ripping through my curly hair. The prospect of death has never frightened me, but no one spoke of death in those days, so I did not know what would come after this terrifying fall. The unknown was worse.

Perhaps if I had been my cousin Findaráto, someone everyone loved and wept over and who became a heroic name renowned in ages afterwards, one of the Great Eagles or a swan or Manwë himself would have come to my rescue, to ensure that one so beautiful and noble would live to perform deeds worthy of honor. But I was not Findaráto, and many would have preferred that I died that day, never to become the cause of so much grief later on. In a cruel, ironic way, I did survive, though the only rescue I received was my brother Tyelkormo coming down to the water by another way and braving the waves to pull my bleeding, unconscious form to land.

* * *

I awoke, two days later they told me, in the infirmary in Tirion with two broken legs, three broken ribs, and a severe head wound. Ammë was there, but Atar could not leave his work for his ugly fourth son. "Ammë," I mumbled when I saw her leaning over me, tears in her eyes.

"You're fine, love," she whispered, kissing my forehead. "I won't leave you."

I slipped my small hand into hers and clutched it so tightly, she had to gently loosen my grip with her other hand.

My brothers visited later that day. Tyelkormo came as well, but I think they made him. He would not look me in the eyes, stupid three-year-old that I was. He shuffled toward the bed, head lowered. "Are you okay, Moryo?"

Everything hurt, my vision was blurry, and talking felt like chewing on Atar's scrap metal, but in that moment a shred of strength returned to me. I sat up, grinned at Tyelko, and jammed my fist into his face. He reeled away from the bed, screaming, and Ammë grabbed my shoulders, forcing me back into the pillow. "Carnistir!" From behind her, I saw Maitimo shake his head, and Makalaurë fled from the room.

"Why'd you do that?" Tyelko shrieked.

"You made me fall!"

"I did not! I was trying to keep you from being too close to edge, and you jumped off!"

"You bumped me!"

"Boys!" Ammë interjected. Turning on me, she said, "Carnistir, apologize to your brother!"

"Sorry, Tyelko," I mumbled, still glaring at him.

He made a face at me, and Maitimo took him from the room.

Only later, reflecting on the incident, did I realize that perhaps it wasn't Tyelkormo's fault, but at the time, it felt like it.

I left the infirmary whole and well, except for my eyesight, which became blurry accompanied by dizziness when I read and wrote or when I was too active. I tried to play as I used to with my brothers and little friends, but this often ended with me collapsing from the dizziness or, several times, passing out. I could not read or write or work with small items. I could hardly stay on the little red pony Atar gave me on my fifth begetting day. Nervous, angry, bitter energy built up inside of me, and I let it out in the only way I knew then: screaming.

How many dinner parties dissolved into embarrassing ordeals for both my family and guests when we would be placidly eating a meal and I would suddenly open my mouth and start screaming for what appeared to be no reason at all? Ammë or Maitimo or a servant would carry me away to my room, disgracing the whole family. Atar would whip me afterwards for my behavior, but eventually, I was banned from attending these gatherings and forced to eat my meal alone in my room. There, I would throw food at the walls and grind it into the floor, yelling the worst things I could think of about everyone before throwing myself on the bed I shared with Tyelko, weeping until I fell asleep. Atar would punish me again, and then Ammë would come after him and sing to me before Tyelko came in. Every night, I listened to her sweet, soothing voice, and felt my anger dissolve until the next day when it would return, gnawing at my heart.

* * *

 _ **Quenya/Sindarin Names:**_

 **Tyelkormo (Tyelko) - Celegorm**

 **Findaráto - Finrod**

 **Maitimo - Maedhros**

 **Makalaurë (Maka) - Maglor**

 _ **Last edited: 5/17/18**_


	3. Chapter II

When I was eleven years old, my cousin Findekáno married. My father, though he would have preferred to remain at home like he did when his half-brothers married, could not snub the rest of his family any longer. I remember listening at the door of Atar and Ammë's room as they discussed the matter.

"My father is angry with me," Atar said. "We'll go and leave."

"The children have to meet their cousins some time, Fëanaro," said Ammë.

My heart quickened. We had many cousins; what were they like?

"They're half-cousins, Nerdanel. Not the same thing. And I already let Nelyo befriend that Findekáno. I will not yield anymore. We'll only spend enough time there to make my father happy."

A pause, then Ammë spoke in a whisper, and I leaned into the door to catch her words. "What of Carnistir?" I clenched my fists. "You know he has a difficult time at social gatherings."

"No," I breathed into the woodwork. "I can do it. I'll try. Please let me go."

Atar didn't answer immediately. "I've . . . been thinking about that. Perhaps I can say-"

"No, Fëanaro. No more excuses. Remember your father."

Atar sighed. "I know." Another pause. "I have an idea. If it doesn't work, he doesn't go anywhere until he's fifty."

I jumped up and down in the hallway even though it made me dizzy and shouted, "Yes!"

The voices stopped abruptly and I fled.

Atar came to me before the wedding, bearing something wrapped in leather. "Morifinwë, I have something for you."

"What is it?" Tyelkormo bounded up to him, reaching for the package.

"Stop, it's mine!" I yelled, wrenching it away from him. Inside was small lump of metal. I stared at it, disappointed.

"Look, Moryo," said Atar, bending down to my height. "When you want scream, you take this piece of iron and squeeze it as hard as you can instead."

Tyelko laughed. "You're such a baby, Moryo."

I grabbed a strand of his silver hair and pulled as hard as I could. He ran away, screaming. I watched him hurdle into the next room, complacent, but Atar gave my cheek a hard smack. "Moryo, behave yourself!" he snapped. He stood up. "If you do, you may go to the wedding. If not, you stay here." He left.

I gazed down at the lump of metal. It had felt cold in my hands before, but now it was warm. I clenched it in my fist, ran to the window overlooking the garden, and threw it. It disappeared into the shrubbery.

* * *

We didn't live very far outside of Tirion, and we arrived in the city at noon. When we came to the huge Tirion gardens where the wedding was held, I instantly felt small and strange. A swirl of unknown elves flowed around us. I clung to Ammë's skirts, wide-eyed. Atar parted from us quickly, and Ammë took us four aside. "Look," she said above the ripple of voices and laughter. "Those are your uncles Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë. Your cousins should be all here; perhaps you can introduce your brothers to Findekáno, Maitimo."

Maitimo sighed and rolled his eyes. Ammë smiled. "Go on, all of you. I'm going to talk to your aunt." She strode away toward the tall, willowy maiden standing beside Uncle Ñolofinwë. I watched her go, numb and lost. Looking around, I found my three brothers had already run off. I shrank to the ground, holding my knees, staring at the swirling movement all around me.

"What are you doing?"

I let out a little shriek at the voice, but clapped a hand over my mouth. I hoped Atar hadn't heard. I turned to see a small maiden about my age crouching down next to me. Dark, silky hair framed her delicate white face and cascaded over her small shoulders. I blinked at her, thinking I had not seen such a pretty little thing before. She tilted her head and frowned. "You're not very smart, are you?"

I glared at her. "I'm smart. You just surprised me, is all."

"Well, why won't you tell me what you're doing?"

I felt my cheeks go red. _I must look hideous_ , I thought. "I'm just sitting here."

"Why?"

I didn't want her to know. "I'd rather not say."

She wrinkled her nose. "You're funny. What's your name?"

"Carnistir."

"'Carnistir'," she repeated. "I like that name."

I stared at her. "Really?"

"Yes." She raised her eyebrows at me. "Well? Aren't you going to ask me my name?"

I blushed again, to my irritation. "Sorry. What's your name?"

"Írissë."

"That's beautiful."

"Thank you." She studied me another moment, then said, "Do you want to play? I think you're the only other person here my age. I'm always so lonely. Neither of my brothers ever want to play with me."

I sucked in my breath. Írissë understood me. She wanted to play with me. She liked my name! "Yes!" I cried, jumping to my feet.

"Then catch me!" Írissë laughed, before leaping up and darting away between the grownups.

I ran after her, pushing past rustling silks and legs and even a dog. My vision blurred over and the familiar nausea rose up in my throat. My head pounded, and I collided with someone, collapsing onto the grass.

"Are you all right, small one?" said a gentle voice above me.

I desperately tried blinking away the black haze which had settled over my eyes.

"Carnistir, what are you doing?" Maitimo asked, irritated.

A pair of strong arms heaved me up, and as my vision cleared, I looked up into the face of a tall elf with dark braided hair and kind eyes. A maiden with flowers on her head leaned on his arm. Maitimo stood beside them, arms crossed. "Is this your brother, Russandol?" the kind elf asked, using Maitimo's pet name.

"Yes. Carnistir, go away. I'm talking to Findekáno."

I bowed to the groom and his bride, then went off in search of Írissë.

I found her at the refreshment table, helping herself to a plate of little cream pastries. She looked at me, cream around her perfect little mouth. "Where were you, Carnistir?"

She couldn't know about my problem. She wouldn't like me if she knew. I swallowed. "I fell." It was true. I noticed a platter of meat dumplings and edged toward the table.

"I still don't think you're very smart, but I like you." She licked her fingers, watching me.

 _She likes me!_ I took a dumpling.

Írissë leaned close to me and I stiffened. She touched my cheek, and a tingle of pleasure coursed through my body. "Why is your skin like that?" She didn't sound repulsed, only curious.

"I was born this way," I murmured, looking down at the dumpling.

She tilted her head again. At length she leaned away, and said, as if she had some to an important decision. "I like it."

"Moryo, it's time to go."

I almost didn't hear Atar. I gazed up at him in a daze. He was frowning, not at me, but at Írissë.

"Come on." He took my hand and dragged me away from Írissë, who stared after me with solemn eyes.

* * *

 ** _Quenya/Sindarin Names:_**

 **Findekáno - Fingon**

 **Fëanáro - F** **ëanor**

 **Ñolofinwë - Fingolfin**

 **Arafinwë - Finarfin**

 **Írissë - Aredhel**

 _ **Last edited: 5/17/18**_


	4. Chapter III

As I grew older, I took to wearing my curly hair loose and thick around my face in the vain hope of concealing it. Írissë laughed when she saw it for the first time and thought I was silly. "You look like a lion, Carnistir." Atar still tried to keep us from interacting with our cousins, but Írissë would not give up easily. She kept coming over until Atar grudgingly allowed her presence. All my brothers loved Írissë, but Tyelko and I especially enjoyed her company. We would take long rambles in the fields outside Tirion on our horses, though I had to content myself with sitting astride Felenor and watching Tyelko and Írissë chase each other.

One day, Írissë and I went out by ourselves. We rode slowly through the woods and down to the river where we stopped and gazed at the rushing water tumbling over stones. Írissë spoke, not looking at me. "Tyelko told me you don't ride fast with us because you hurt your head when you fell off a cliff when you were three."

"Tyelko talks too much," I burst out, shaking with anger. "It was his fault." Írissë turned toward me, her dark eyes calm, and I reddened.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

Shame flooded my heart and I looked aside, my hair blocking her from my view. "I thought you wouldn't like me otherwise."

She didn't speak for a long time. A bird landed on a rock in the middle of the river. It tilted its head at us, reminding me of Írissë when I first met her.

"Morifinwë Carnistir," Írissë said, smiling crookedly. "You need to stop telling yourself lies."

I lifted my head, pushing back my hair, and stared at a tree on the opposite bank. "I'm sorry. I do that a lot, I suppose."

"And stop being so serious." I blinked at her and she threw her head back and laughed. "Come now, let us return."

Relieved, I followed Írissë back to our house. As we went, I admired her dark tresses, her curves shrouded in the white silk edged with silver she so loved. When we arrived at my father's house, Írissë made no move to dismount her horse. I slid off Felenor and grasped the reins of her horse. "Won't you come inside?" I begged her. "The noonday meal will be served soon."

"I spend too much time here, Carnistir. I must return to my own house, or Atar will be angry with me."

I nodded, already missing her. "Tomorrow then? We can climb the trees by the river."

She laughed. "Yes, Carnistir." She galloped off over the hill, and I stood there a long time, still staring at the horizon where she disappeared when Makalaurë came out to fetch me for the meal.

Once inside and seated at the long table in the dining hall, I noticed Ammë's seat was empty. Looking down the other end of the table, Atar was gone as well. "Where's Ammë?" I asked Maitimo, who sat next to me.

"Atar said she wasn't feeling right and took her to the infirmary a little after you left with Írissë."

I wasn't fooled. "Why wouldn't she feel right?"

"For Eru's sake, Carnistir, why do you ask so many questions? All I know is what Atar told us."

I didn't believe him, and glared at him and tossed my hair in a haughty manner I had recently adopted, but inside, I felt frightened for Ammë. We rarely went to the infirmary. Had she had an accident like me? I couldn't finish my venison; every bite weighed heavy on my tongue. I excused myself from the table and retreated to my room. I lay on the bed and gazed up at the ceiling, counting the painted stars until my vision blurred.

About an hour later, Tyelko entered, grinning slyly. I sat up and glared at him. "Go away, Tyelko. I want to be alone."

"I know why Ammë's at the infirmary."

I forgot about glaring at him. "Why?"

"She went to the infirmary just before you came, Moryo."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

He sauntered over to the bed and leaned on it, his head in his arms, grinning wickedly. "The infirmary's where you get babies. We're going to have another brother!"

My anger returned. "You're lying, Tyelko."

"I'm not. Just ask Nelyo. He said that Ammë went to the infirmary just before Kano came, and before I came, and I know just before you came."

"Go away!" I screamed, and threw a pillow at him. He jumped aside and it landed on the floor a dozen feet away from him. Still grinning, he turned and left the room, leaving the door open. I lowered myself into the blankets on the bed, shaking, tears slipping down my cheeks. I could not place a name or a reason upon my anger and fear. All I knew was that I did not want another brother.

Tyelkormo proved to be correct, for Atar and Ammë returned from the infirmary with a tiny person wrapped in blue silk. Ammë laid him in the cradle I slept in when I was small. "Carnistir, this is your brother, Curufinwë."

"Isn't that Atar's name also?" I asked, though I wanted to show as little interest in this usurper as possible.

"Yes. He named your little brother that because he looks so much like him."

The pride in her voice irritated me, but I felt a sense of responsibility like I had never experienced before when she said "little brother." I was now a big brother, someone to take care of this small one, someone to be an example for him, someone for him to look up to. I gazed into the cradle again. The baby lay on his belly, head to one side, tiny hands balled into wrinkly fists. Wet, black hair lay plastered on his pasty white forehead. My repulsion returned, but I was determined to be a good big brother.

* * *

 _ **Quenya/Sindarin Names:**_

 **Nelyafinw** **ë (Nelyo) - Maedhros**

 **Kanafinw** **ë (Kano) - Maglor**

 **Curufinwë (Curvo) - Curufin (also sometimes Fëanor)**

 _ **Last edited: 5/17/18**_


	5. Chapter IV

**Hello again! I ran my muse into the ground last time, but I'm back with another chapter. Thank you for the support and reviews!**

* * *

It didn't take long for me to hate my little brother.

It began when I considered his name more fully. Atar named _him_ Curufinwë. The fifth son of Fëanaro bore the family name. Not Nelyafinwë the eldest, not Kanafinwë, not even Turkafinwë, or me, Morifinwë, _the dark,_ Carnistir, _red-faced._ What did this little worm do to receive such a magnificent name? In a moment of insight, I saw how it would be: Curufinwë would never have to bear the shame of an ugly name like me, never have to worry about being looked down upon, would always have everyone worshipping at his feet, always feel loved and wanted by all, except by his unsightly older brother, Morifinwë Carnistir.

Still, I knew that he could not help his name, and I kept my resolve in being a good big brother. I tried to help Ammë, but discovered I was severely ill-equipped in taking care of babies. Ammë did not trust me to hold him after the first time when I accidently dropped him (it wasn't my fault; Tyelko was poking me). That first year I could not feed him for obvious reasons. He cried constantly, and Ammë gave me the task of entertaining him, but I quickly tired of it, both of the entertaining and of his unceasing wailing. If I did not help Ammë, though, I found I could not spend much time with her.

"Ammë, could you go riding with me?"

"I'm sorry, Carnistir, but I have to put your brother to bed."

"Ammë, look at this picture of Alcarë I painted."

"Let me see . . . oh, little one, are you hungry again? I'll look at it later, Carnistir."

By myself, I crunched the picture into a ball and threw it into the garden. It wasn't very good anyway since I couldn't focus on it while I painted. My eyes blurred halfway through, and Alcarë's legs thickened in a grotesque way.

Ammë was no longer there for me.

I rode every day with Írissë instead – slow walks down to the river, up the mountains, along the jeweled beaches.

"You're so quiet these days, Carnistir," Írisse said one day as we wandered up to Ezellohar, the hill where grew the two great trees, Laurelin and Telperion.

"I have nothing to say."

"It isn't because of little Curvo, is it?" From her cloak, she produced a badly creased version of my painting of Alcarë.

I pretended not to see the picture. "What do you know?" I scowled, disliking how she said "little Curvo."

"We've been friends for a long time now, Carnistir. I know you too well." She laughed, the sound as delicate and golden as the light from Laurelin.

I gazed up at the tree, feeling its glow swathe me in its radiance. Laurelin was my favorite of the Two Trees, but I hadn't told anyone. Everyone probably thought Telperion, the tree of the night, was my favorite.

"Carnistir?"

I turned toward her. "Yes, it is because of Curufinwë." I refused to use the nickname.

"You aren't jealous, are you?"

Unbidden, tears pricked my eyes. I wiped them away, hardened my jaw, and tossed my hair. "I don't want to talk about it."

Írisse spoke no more, but maneuvered her horse closer to mine, leaned over, and embraced me. The gesture startled me and I stiffened. But feeling her warm body close to mine, her dark tresses spilling over my shoulders, her hands tight around me, I relaxed and embraced her back. A tear escaped down my cheek and it fell into Írisse's silver mantle.

The others didn't mind Curufinwë so much. Maitimo was always off with Findekáno. Maka seemed indifferent to the runt, though he would sometimes play lullabies over his cradle. Tyelko told me he didn't care much for our new brother either, but that would soon change.

As Curufinwë grew, he looked just like Atar, with long silky black hair and piercing eyes, and nothing at all like me. (Ammë eventually named him "Atarinkë," which meant "little father." I was rather smug about it since it wasn't as flattering as Atar's name for him.) Worse still, he inherited Atar's skill in smithing like none of us had. At five, he made a necklace set with a ruby for Ammë. Atar could not stop praising the ingenuity of his youngest son. Certainly, his other sons possessed talent (excepting me, of course; my stupid eyesight prevented me from achieving great skill in anything), but Curufinwë surpassed everyone else. I hated being outdone by a five-year-old, and I decided to make an even better necklace for Írissë's begetting day.

Atar didn't mind if we used his workshop and forge, but he preferred if we asked him first. For some reason, I didn't want Atar to know just yet, and I snuck into the workshop late one night. I labored for many hours over the chain, resting when my vision became too blurry. As I worked, I imagined showing it to my family, Atar finally seeing my worth and stupid little Curufinwë being put to shame. In the end, I thought the chain much finer than Curufinwë's and began setting in the three diamonds I had found on the sands that morning with Írissë. I had almost finished the base, when a loud voice broke the hot night air.

"You're doing it wrong."

I jumped, spilling the hot, molten metal over my foot. I jumped again as it hit my sandal, burning through the leather and settling onto my skin. My scream strangled in my throat, and I fainted.

I recovered quickly, much to everyone's surprise, the effects of the burn leaving no more than a scar and a small limp. But I had gained something else: a reputation for being accident-prone and a severe loathing of my little brother.

"You really were doing it wrong, Moryo," he told me solemnly the day I came back from the infirmary, hobbling along on one foot and leaning heavily on Maka.

"Oh, shut up," I growled.

"Do not speak to Curufinwë like that," Atar said, glaring down at me. "And if you had only asked me first, Morifinwë, we might have prevented this."

No "I hope you're feeling well, Moryo" or "Welcome home, Moryo." I tossed my hair and almost fell. Makalaurë caught me before I hit the ground and dragged me to my room.

* * *

 _ **Quenya/Sindarin Names:**_

 **Turkafinw** **ë - Celegorm**

 **Atarinkë - Curufin**

 _ **Last edited: 5/16/18**_


	6. Chapter V

**Ok, so I realized "Blighted _Son"_ made more sense than "Blighted _Sun"_ (thank you, ****DaughteroftheValar1701),** **so I changed the title. :p**

 **This chapter is a little harsh (sorry), but I'm trying to show how Caranthir got to be so nasty. Not saying he had a perfect excuse, though. :p**

 _ **Quenya/Sindarin Names:**_

 **Turkafinwë - Celegorm (also realized I had been spelling his mother-name, Tyelkormo, wrong!)**

* * *

"Morifinwë!"

I clenched my fists, dropped the cards I had been looking at, and sat up on the marble floor. Curufinwë stood in the doorway of my room, clutching a book to his small chest. "What?" I growled.

He lowered his head a little, as he was prone to do when I spoke to him. He held the book out to me. "Can you read to me, please?"

My face cleared and my irritation evaporated. "Why don't you ask Tyelkormo?" Of all of us brothers, Tyelko adored the little runt the most.

"He's out hunting with 'Romë."

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. "What about Ammë or Atar? What about Nelyo? Maka?"

He shook his head, his silky hair swishing around his cheeks in perfect waves. My hair bounced and knotted and got caught on everything. "You're the only one. Please?"

"All right."

In an instant, Curufinwë had ran over to me, nestled in my lap, and shoved the book into my hands expectantly. I opened it, stiffly, unfamiliar with such a task, and began reading. "' _Elenír and Nahar_ by Fëanáro Curufinwë.'"

"That's my name!"

"Yes, I know." My irritation returned, but I suppressed it and continued. ""Elenír is a beautiful mare who lives in Tirion." Opposite the words was the picture Ammë had painted for the book, a lovely watercolor of a charcoal-colored mare trotting down the streets of Tirion. I remembered using the pictures in this book to try to paint Alcarë or Felenor countless times, never able to finish them properly because of my vision. I hurriedly read the rest before my eyes blurred. "'One day, Elenír went out into the fields outside Tirion. There, she met a beautiful white stallion named Nahar. They played all day in the fields. When the sun went down, Nahar's owner came for him. Elenír was so surprised! Nahar's owner was the great hunter, Oromë. Oromë invited Elenír to live in his stables forever. Elenír did, and she lives with Oromë and Nahar to this day. The End.'"

The last picture showed Elenír galloping through a wide field, the sun playing over the whole thing. It was my favorite picture, and the tell-tale paint splotches on it spoke of how often I tried to copy it. I felt a little lightheaded after reading. I sighed and looked down. Curufinwë lay sound asleep in my lap. I stroked his hair, feeling a small trace of affection for him. Pride filled me. I was a big brother, protector of this innocent little one.

"Curvo! Look what I have for you!" Tyelkormo's voice rang down the hall into the room.

Curufinwë leaped to his feet as though he had never been asleep, tripping over my legs, and ran out the door, shrieking, "What is it, what is it?"

I stared after him, feeling a little lonely. I should have remembered Curufinwë only came to me as a last resort. I curled into a ball on the floor and wept quietly.

* * *

I had stopped my embarrassing habit of randomly screaming, but my family still preferred to leave me at home for any occasion.

"It's because you're so gloomy, Moryo," Tyelko told me. "You always wear black, you hide your face with that ridiculous hair of yours, and you walk like you're in chains and we are your jailers. It's embarrassing, and you scare off all the maidens. Just because you're going to remain unmarried for the rest of your life doesn't mean I have to."

At fifty-five, still very young and inexperienced, I hadn't given marriage much thought, but I couldn't let Tyelko get away with that comment, and I kicked him in the shin. My aim hadn't improved much, and I instead kicked him in the groin. Needless to say, I was complacent when he announced he couldn't go hunting that day because of "that rotten little idiot he had to call his brother."

My happiness didn't last long.

"Morifinwë," Atar said the next day, his face dark, "Turkafinwë told me you kicked him so badly the other day, he couldn't go riding with Lord Oromë after he promised he would. You should know better by now than to do such a thing. For this act, at your age, I must punish you."

I felt my insides turn cold and I shivered. Atar and Ammë never punished us, except for an occasional slap (mostly administered by Atar on me). I could not imagine what this punishment could be, but I began regretting my hasty action.

"Go out back by the stables," Atar said. "I will join you shortly."

I nodded, in a daze, and walked out to the stables.

Atar came after a few minutes, a long whip I had never seen before his hands. I froze at the sight of it. "Take off your shirt, Morifinwë."

I obeyed, trying so hard to stop myself from shaking it hurt.

"Get on your knees."

I did.

"You are a Son of Fëanáro. You are not a coward." He paused. "Which means you respect your brothers and you do not cry out."

I bit my bottom lip as the first stinging lash whipped across my back. As they came down, over and over, I thought, _But you do not respect your brothers, Atar, half-brothers though they might be._ I could not tell him that.

I did not cry out, not then, not when Ammë applied burning ointment to my back, not when she wrapped rough linen around my chest, not even when Írisse embraced me so hard the following day that I clutched her equally hard and she squealed and gave me a strange look. During the day, I was a Son of Fëanáro, though I felt more shame in the title than pride. But at night, while my dreams raged and tormented me, I was no son of Fëanáro, and I screamed and wept till Ammë came and woke me up. I would awaken shivering and drenched in sweat, the image of my father whipping me to death still fresh in my mind.

* * *

People say I am harsh. But what of my father?


	7. Chapter VI

**To let everyone know, I am going strictly by _The Silmarillion,_ so Orodreth is Finarfin's second son and Ereinion/Gil-galad is Fingon's son.**

* * *

On the begetting day I came of age, my family held a small party at our house in celebration. I had wanted to invite all our cousins, but Atar said no, saying it was just a small gathering. This was true, but it was also true that my father hated his half-brothers. Still, later that day, Írissë and I went riding into Tirion, and as we rested beside the great fountain in the center of the city, she gave me a fine dark cloak she had made which shimmered different colors beneath the sun. Better than that, she kissed my cheek after she gave it to me. She pinned it around my shoulders, and then we went walking around the city. The weight I usually dragged with me wherever I went disappeared and I felt like a cloud as I strolled through Tirion with Írissë, the cloak floating behind me, basking in her presence without a thought for all my wrongs.

The day took a sharp downward turn when I spotted two figures.

My brain registered them as those haughty, golden-haired Vanyar, when I realized they were approaching me. Írisse cried out a greeting and ran up to the smaller of the figures. I remained where I stood, uncertain. They looked vaguely familiar. One of them turned toward me, smiling hesitantly. "You are Morifinwë, are you not?" he asked, his voice like falling water.

I nodded, lowering my head unconsciously.

He strode up to me, smiling, and held out his hand. "I am Artaresto, son of Arafinwë. That's my brother, Angaráto. We are your cousins."

I stared at his perfect, white face framed by perfect golden hair, hair the color of Laurelin. I stared at his large, but well-formed hand, a ring set with a green gem on his middle finger. I looked back up at his face. His smile was losing its luster and appeared painted on. Behind him, I saw his brother standing with Írissë. He was about my age, perhaps a little younger, but with the same perfect face and hair as his brother.

"Hello," I said at last, ignoring his still out-stretched hand.

Artaresto lowered his arm and glanced at the others. While he still had his head turned, I spoke without thinking, "But we are only half-cousins."

He turned back, startled. "Well – yes, but that shouldn't matter."

The words spilled from my mouth. "I suppose not. But I wonder why Atar has restricted our interaction?"

Artaresto still looked startled, but I espied a violent motion behind him, and suddenly his brother, Angaráto, stood next to him. Írissë flew to my side, taking hold of my shoulder, hissing, "Carnistir, stop." I shook her off.

"Artaresto is trying to be friendly," said Angaráto, his perfect face a lovely ugly red. "I hope you were not implying anything by that statement."

"Oh no. I simply thought it strange that we are meeting only just now."

"Indeed," said Artaresto, a trifle less friendly. He nodded to Írissë, nodded to me, and said, "We must be on our way now."

He walked away, his brother following. Írissë sighed, in relief, I suppose, but I straightened and called after them, "Oh, now I remember! Atar doesn't like us associating with you because our family line is now tainted with other blood!" This wasn't exactly true; I didn't know the main reason behind Atar's disdain for the rest of our family.

But true or not, Angaráto whirled around, ran up to me and spat, "And your father is so self-centered, he can't look past his own pitiful history."

Rage filled me, though I had no great love for my father, and I slapped Angaráto across the cheek. He stumbled back, but I could see his sapphire eyes burning with fury. I smiled a little; nice to know that despite his stunning appearance, he could still act like me. He made to rush at me, but, to my surprise, Írissë leaped in front of him, arms outstretched. He collided with her, and together they sprawled onto the cobblestone street. I ran to help Írissë up, but she shoved me away, anger in her beautiful face, tears trembling in her eyes.

"Are you all right, Írissë?" Angaráto asked, sending flushed glares my way.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

"Angaráto, come," Artaresto called, glancing around nervously. Now I noticed the surrounding crowds, whispering among themselves. I felt my face turn deep scarlet, and I lowered my head, pulling my curls close together. Angaráto glared at me before following his brother.

Írissë turned on me, wrathful. "Carnistir! How could you? They are our cousins no matter what. Me and my brothers happen to be very good friends with them." She lowered her voice, which shook with tears. "I am also your half-cousin. Do you consider me a 'taint' to the family?"

Never before had Írissë yelled at me, but worse than that were the stinging words I had spoken without thinking, and had inadvertently hurt my beloved Írissë with. "No, Írissë. I did not mean you. I could never mean you." I felt tears behind my eyes, and I clenched my jaw against them. "I love you," I said through my teeth, but I don't think she heard me.

"I know you did not mean me," she whispered. "It still hurts, though. And you still meant them, and they are like my brothers."

She brought her hand up to her eyes, and I caught her other arm. "Írissë, wait!"

"Moryo, let go!" She pulled away from me and ran through the crowd, weeping.

I watched her go, inwardly cursing myself. The onlookers melted away, glancing my way and whispering as they went. I heard one of them say to his companion, "Wait till his father hears of this." I wished I was still young enough to be punished; I deserved it, for hurting Írissë if for nothing else. But now I had come of age, and I should have known better. I realized I had gotten it wrong; my cousins and their families were not the taint – I was.

* * *

 _ **Quenya/Sindarin Names:**_

 **Artaresto - Orodreth**

 **Angaráto - Angrod**

 ** _Last edited: 5/17/18_**


	8. Chapter VII

**Thank you so much for the reviews! I really appreciate them!**

* * *

Írissë avoided me for the next few weeks. I took Felenor out to ride every day, galloping as hard as I could until I fell off, half unconscious and sometimes so nauseated I threw up. I would stay away all day. I couldn't stand being around Curufinwë.

Tyelkormo found me one of those days, lying in the grass beside Felenor, too exhausted to even look up at him. "Moryo, what are you doing?"

"Go away."

"Is this where you go every day? This is what you do? You need to get a life, Moryo."

"Shut up."

"I want to show you something. No one else in the family has seen it, not even Curvo."

I did not give him the satisfaction of answering him.

Tyelkormo sighed, then whistled.

I looked up sharply. A huge wolfhound, the size of Felenor, leaned over me, its nose inches from my face. It breathed onto me, blasting my hair from my tear-stained face. In a moment, I was on my feet. "Tyelko! Where did you get this thing?"

"Lord Oromë gave him to me." Tyelkormo gazed up at the hound in pride. "His name is Huan. Lady Nienna prophesied over him. She said one day he would perish, but not before he had fought the mightiest wolf in Arda."

I stared up in shock at the enormous hound, but after a moment, I frowned. "That is a strange thing to prophesy over a dog."

Tyelko ran his hands over the hound's fur. "Isn't he magnificent? I shall be the greatest hunter ever to walk the earth with him by my side."

"Do not say that, brother. I do not think Lord Oromë would take kindly to your boasting, especially after giving you such a great gift."

He glared at me. "I may say what I wish. You're just my little brother."

I scoffed.

* * *

Ammë was going to have another baby. I knew now that babies did not come from the infirmary, and I was observant enough to notice her bourgeoning stomach. I felt only a vague sense of dread when I realized I was about to become an older brother again. I couldn't see how anything could be worse than Curufinwë, who received all the attention, not only from Atar, but also all the maidens in Tirion, though he was barely fifty at the time.

I missed Írissë.

I longed to ride with her, to wander on Ezellohar with her, to sit with her on the sand beside the sea, to tangle my hands in her night-black hair and kiss her and tell her how much I loved her. I longed to hold her close as I saw Makalaurë do with Eärlinel. They were to be wed in two years. I wondered if Írissë would ever be my bride.

When the time came for my mother to give birth, I rode up to the mountains and stayed there for a week. Roaming through the piney woods, I contemplated. What would my new brother be like? Or would I have a sister? I rather liked the idea of a sister, a brave, strong girl like Írisse to go hunting with, to soothe at night during a thunderstorm. With this faint hope, I rode back down the mountain. As I approached the door to our house, Curufinwë burst out, his face flushed. "Morifinwë! Ammë had twins! We have two new brothers!"

I almost turned back, but Makalaurë came out at that moment and saw me. "Hello, Carnistir. Are you coming in?" His deep, blue-gray eyes watched me from beneath his dark lashes, and I sighed and dismounted.

"I suppose I am."

Ammë looked wearier than I had ever seen her before, and she walked with a small stoop. I didn't pay that much heed, though, and looked into the cradle. Perhaps they had inherited my blotchy skin, my untamable hair, my dull gray eyes.

They did not.

"They have Maitimo's hair," I said in a monotone voice, trying to hide my disappointment. The two identical babies possessed the pale white skin of my brothers and my cousins, and the flaming red hair of Maitimo and Ammë and Grandfather Mahtan. "What are their names?"

"I call them both Ambarussa," said Ammë, smiling down into the cradle, and a pain struck my heart as I wondered if she had looked so lovingly down at me when I was a baby. "Your father named them Pityafinwë and Telufinwë."

 _Telufinwë,_ I thought. _Last Finwë. They must have finally decided not to have anymore children._ I also felt a selfish pleasure that Ammë gave them both the same name. Though it might prove confusing. I wondered if she would change it later.

The twins were very quiet, unlike Curufinwë, who had constantly screamed as a baby when he wanted something. "Entertaining" them was much more rewarding that it had been with him. I took out my old ivory horses for them to play with, which they enjoyed very much. They also liked it when I read to them, though in those first couple months they could not understand me. But they watched me with fascination, hanging on my every word.

When Ammë saw this for the first time, she laughed and said, "Tyelko did the same thing when Maka sang to him." I felt proud at this – almost as if my voice could rival Maka's sea-like tenor. I did not try singing to them, though. Later on, I learned that the Atani thought my voice very fine. But in Tirion, it ranked very low among the voices of my people, and none could compete with Makalaurë, who could make the beasts of the field weep with his music.

One day, I had finished reading a story to the twins, when Telvo sat up and cried, "Mori!"

I stared at him in shock. "Mori . . . ?"

He pointed at me. "Mori!"

Pityo took up the refrain. "Mori!"

I nodded, unable to keep from smiling. "Yes, I am Morifinwë, your big brother."

* * *

 _ **Quenya/Sindarin Names:**_

 **Ambarussa - Amrod and Amras**

 **Pityafinwë (Pityo) - Amrod**

 **Telufinwë (Telvo) - Amras**

 _ **Last edited: 5/17/18**_


	9. Chapter VIII

**Thank you for the reviews! If you have any suggestions for the story, feel free to post them! I will be trying to make monthly updates at the very least. Love you all!**

* * *

Two years after the Ambarussa's birth, Makalaurë wedded Eärlinel. He invited the whole family, and I would have stayed home except Ammë, Maka, and most persistently the Ambarussa insisted I go. We walked through Tirion to the same gardens we celebrated Findekáno's wedding in, a tiny white hand clutching each of mine. The twins stayed close to me, wobbling along on their small legs, staring as the huge world of Tirion swirled past them. I smiled, remembering when I thought Tirion would swallow me up.

We entered the gardens. I halted at the entrance, staring at the crowds and wishing I had remained at home. The twins gazed up at me, no doubt wondering why we did not mingle. They pulled at my hands. "Come on, Mori!"

Makalaurë saw me hanging back and came up to me, smiling gently. "Carnistir, what's the matter?"

My face grew hot. "I don't like crowds." I hated the stares; I could never determine if they were because I was a prince, or because of my ugly, exotic skin.

"Írrisë's here." He smiled. "You haven't spoken much to her for a long time. Tyelko and Curvo have been riding with her these days."

I flinched. "I don't think she wants to speak to me."

Maka laughed. His laughter is quiet, like soft rain. "Go on, Carnistir. I don't think you're giving sweet Írissë a chance."

Sweet Írissë. I looked down at the twins, who were eyeing the refreshment table. I let them go, and they set off running. Maka placed a hand on my shoulder. "You should ask her."

My face was burning. I pulled at my curls to conceal it. But I found myself smiling. Maka didn't usually say such things, such _rash_ things, I thought Ammë would tell me. He must have been feeling quite lighthearted that day. I lowered my voice. "You really think I should, Maka?"

"She loves you, Carnistir, I'm certain of it."

I raised my head, scanning the crowd. "Where is she?"

"Over there, by Tyelko."

My heart sank at "Tyelko," but I straightened and strode into the gardens.

Though the whole of the House of Finwë came for the wedding, not many others did. I did not know if this was because Makalaurë had not invited many or if we were being snubbed. I saw Maitimo speaking to Findekáno. I caught sight of Artaresto and Angaráto, and I avoided them. I saw Írissë's brother, Turukáno. We had met, once, when he came over to the house with Findekáno. We never spoke again after that. Then I saw Findaráto.

We had never spoken to each other, and I did not wish to. Everyone called him the fairest of all the princes of the Noldor, and everyone loved him, for he was gracious and kind. I could not get the thought of the ugliest, the harshest, and the unkindest of the Noldor speaking to fairest, the gentlest, and the kindest out of my head. I did not loathe him, not yet, only admired, and envied him.  
I made to give him a wide berth, but, to my dismay, I saw him approaching me. I turned away, pretending to examine a white rosebush.

"You are Prince Morifinwë, are you not?"

His voice rivalled Maka's, quite a feat. I turned and nodded. He smiled at me, and I longed to flee.

"I have wanted to speak with you for . . . some time, but you always disappeared before I could."

He was gracious to a fault. Artaresto and Angaráto must have told him about me. I clenched my fists.

"Would you like to go hunting with me and my brothers sometime?"

I stared at him. Why not ask Tyelkormo, with his hunting hound, or Curvo, who outdid us all with his horsemanship? I found myself saying, "Certainly."

Findaráto's face brightened, and he clapped me on the back like Maitimo sometimes did when he was in a good mood. "Wonderful. I look forward to it, cousin." He turned and walked away to speak with Turukáno. I watched him go in a daze. Perhaps I wasn't so hateful after all.

I continued on my way to Írissë, who stood in a little arbor, alone save for Tyelko. I froze upon seeing them.

Tyelko's arm wound around Írissë's waist, and he leaned close to her, his lips touching her ear. "Tyelko, I said stop," Írissë said, her voice irritated.

I charged into the arbor and wrenched Tyelkormo away. He stumbled to the ground, first surprise then anger then amusement registering on his face. "What now, Moryo?" He smirked as he stood and dusted his trousers off.

"Leave Írissë alone," I seethed, standing between him and Írissë. I was full ready to kick him wherever and as hard as need be.

"Moryo -" Írissë began.

"Get out of here," I snapped at Tyelko, "or I'll kick you so hard this time, you won't be able to ride ever again."

He still smirked, but he must have known I meant what I said, and he left the arbor with a swagger. My anger diminished, and dread filled me. Why would Írissë listen to me now?

"Carnistir -"

I turned toward her, clutching my face with my hands. "I know, I know! Forgive me, Írissë. I'm too rash and I act without thinking. Please forgive me." I started to leave, but she grabbed my arm and I stopped. She pulled me back, gently, and took my hands.

"Carnistir, look at me."

I raised my head, suddenly aware of the tear stains on my cheeks. She brushed aside my hair and smiled. I trembled. She wasn't angry with me!

"Carnistir, you did me a favor. Certainly in a rather . . . harsh manner, but Tyelko has been bothering me to no end since you stopped riding with me." She laughed. How I loved the sound! "He even proposed to me. Can you imagine?"

My smile froze on my lips.

Írissë frowned and cocked her head, but she continued. "I'm sorry I haven't talked much to you. I was so upset, you know, but you did apologize, and I couldn't stay angry at you for long." She let my hands go and embraced me. I trembled at her touch, but wrapped my arms around her and held her close. She had obviously rejected Tyelko. She loved me, Maka said so. I relaxed, and kissed her hair. Írissë looked up at me, smiling. "You're my best friend, Carnistir."

I made myself speak. "Írissë . . ." My voice creaked. I cleared my throat and began again. "Írissë, you're my best friend, too. I – I love you. Would you . . . would you marry me?"

Írissë's smile vanished and she pulled away from me. I felt as if my heart had been ripped from my chest. She moved away to a bench and lowered herself onto it, her face shocked. I swallowed hard, wondering what I had done wrong. I thought through my actions. I was not rash. Maka told me to ask her. He told me she loved me. I gazed at her, pained. He was certain of it.

I approached Írissë, slowly, and sat next to her, leaving a large space between us. "Írissë . . . what's wrong?"

When she spoke, tears thickened her voice. "Not you too . . ." was all she said.

We sat in silence a long while. Írissë's tears subsided, and she looked at me, straightening as she wiped her eyes. "Carnistir . . . I love you, but as a brother and nothing more. I love you all as brothers. It surprised me when Tyelko asked me, and it hurt a little, but I don't care for him as much as I care for you. He is a little vain and stupid, perhaps, so I put it behind me. But you -" She broke off and took in a deep breath, as if to steady herself. "But you, you are my best friend. I did not expect it. And – it does hurt."

"Why, Írissë?" I was close to tears again myself.

"I don't know!" She buried her face in her hands, weeping. I slid closer to her, pulling her into my arms.

"Írissë," I whispered. I tilted her head up to me, and, without thinking, kissed her lips. For one moment, she leaned into me, and a streak of hope went through me. But just as quickly, it vanished. She wrenched away from me and ran from the arbor, weeping. I watched her go, angry at myself beyond words. But before I could do anything, Findekáno and Maitimo strode into the arbor. Maitimo looked angry, but Findekáno was wrathful.

"What did you do to my sister?"

I stared at them, and they stared back at me, their gazes boring into me. Every part of me felt hot and stiff. I stood, pushed past them, and ran from the gardens, mounted my horse and galloped down to my favorite place by the sea.

* * *

 __ _ **Quenya/Sindarin Names:**_

 **Turukáno - Turgon**

 _ **Last edited: 5/17/18**_


	10. Chapter IX

"Carnistir!"

I heard Ammë's voice over the whipping sea-winds. I turned to face her, my salt-encrusted hair flying behind me. She stumbled over the sands to me, slightly bent as she was prone to doing those days. I caught her in my arms before she fell over. She was so much smaller than me now. "Ammë, why did you come out here?"

"I couldn't find you, Carnistir. I'm worried about you." She touched my cheek. "You never smile anymore."

I suppressed the laugh in my throat. When had I ever smiled?

"Tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing, Ammë. Please don't worry about me."

She gazed down at the sand and shook her head. "Come home, Carnistir. We miss you."

Makalaurë missed me. I stared out at the rolling waves.

"Findaráto came by looking for you."

I turned back to her, startled. "Why?"

"He wants to go hunting with you. Let's return to Tirion, he's waiting for you."

I sighed and followed her up the dunes and back into Tirion. When we stepped onto the cobblestone street, I realized I had left my sandals down by the sea. Ammë saw me looking at my feet. "We'll get them later." I cringed, hating the thought of meeting Findaráto without any shoes on. I dusted my feet of the sand as best I could and continued on, very self-conscious of my state.

We arrived at the house, but when I entered, I froze.

Seated in the reception room was not my cousin Findaráto, but a tall elf I had never seen before. He wore a red tunic and a matching cloak. His face was fair, fairer beyond any other I had known, even fairer than Findaráto and Írrisë. He smiled when he saw me. My face grew hot as I remembered my bare feet. For some reason, I felt compelled to bow before this stranger, and I inclined my head. He laughed softly, and I stiffened. When I looked up, I saw Atar seated opposite the elf, looking rather uncomfortable.

"Morifinwë," he said, his voice toneless, "this is Lord Melkor of the Valar. Lord Melkor, this is my fourth son, Prince Morifinwë Carnistir."

I was surprised with the formality he bestowed on me. Usually, Atar skimmed over me in introductions, giving me a mere, "Morifinwë." I turned toward our guest again with another bow, wondering why one of the Valar, particularly this Vala, decided to pay us a visit. I had heard of Lord Melkor, certainly, but he never interested me much. I had too many other things to worry about than muse over the once-imprisoned, now pardoned Vala who mingled with the Noldor so freely.

I wanted to ask Atar about Findaráto, but my better judgment warned me in time for once. Perhaps it was the ominous, respect-demanding presence of the Vala. In any case, I left the room quickly. As I made my way down the hall, I heard Atar introducing Ammë to Lord Melkor. I entered my room and closed the door.

I did not leave for a long time. Confusing emotions swirled around inside me. I did not like Lord Melkor, that much I knew already. I did not understand why, though. The thought of leaving my room terrified me. All previous burdens, once so important, such as Tyelkormo and Curufinwë and dear, sweet Írrisë, were now replaced by a gnawing discomfort and agitation. I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling, reciting Maka's poetry and not really thinking about the words. I must have fallen asleep, because then Ammë gently shook me awake.

"Carnistir. Carnistir, get up. Put your things in this bag." Her voice was sharp.

I sat up, half-awake, and stared down at the large canvas bag Ammë handed me. "Wha – why?"

Ammë stepped in front of the window, gathering my rumpled clothing off the floor, and I could see her better. Her face was screwed up in annoyance. "Pack only necessities. Perhaps a few other things. We're moving. Or rather, you're moving. I'll take care of what you leave behind."

I blinked. My brain swirled like the sea. "Now?"

"Now."

I could not comprehend it. I slid off the bed, dragging the bag behind me. "Why?"

"Your father no longer wishes to remain here." She straightened and smiled a small smile. "You won't be far."

"'You'?" I repeated, stuffing some of the clothing into the bag. "Why not 'we'?"

"Your father's whims tire me, my son. I will still be here. Waiting for you. It's not far."

I threw down the bag. "No! Either we stay here with you or you come with us!"

Ammë took my hands. I stared down at them, tears spilling from my eyes. I remembered when my hands hardly filled hers. Now hers barely filled mine. "Ammë, I can't leave you. I don't care what Atar says. I'm staying with you."

She gazed up into my eyes with a sort of loving fierceness. "You will do what your father wants, Carnistir." She squeezed my hands. "I won't be far. You may come here whenever you like."

I could form no rational words. I kept repeating between my tears, "Why now? What is it? Why?"

"He will tell you, my son. Now quickly. You do not want to incite your father's wrath. Any more."

I wiped my eyes. "Why is he angry?"

She shook her head. "He will tell you." Then she quickly moved over to the wardrobe and gathered the rest of my clothing. I collected my things in a dream. Why was it happening so fast? Why couldn't the world go on as it always had? Who could understand my father's mind?

Two hours found all six of us packed and ready to leave. Maka was there as well. Atar gave Ammë a hasty kiss before he left like the house would collapse on him if he stayed. The others made their farewells. The twins cried. Tyelkormo and Curufinwë acted like they didn't care. I couldn't tell what Maitimo was thinking. I could never tell what he was thinking, actually. I was the last, and I lingered. I flung my arms around Ammë and never wanted to let go. But at length, she touched my arms and whispered, "Go on, Carnistir. You'll be fine. I'm here, and you won't be far." A strange silence stretched between us, and when she spoke again, my heart chilled. She knew something I didn't, and the unknown always frightened me. For days afterwards, her words rang in my head, ominous and, strangely, deadly.

"Not yet."


	11. Chapter X

**I'M ALIVE!**

 **Ahem, anyway, so I decided to deviate a little from _The Silmarillion_ and I am going to include a part from the other lore books later on. That being said, I'm including a list of Quenya/Sindarin names already covered after the chapter because, dang, all of Finarfin's kids have such similar names and I don't want you guys to have to go to other chapters or look it up. Enjoy!**

 **Much love,**

 **Unicadia**

* * *

So we wandered about Valinor, never remaining long in one place. I felt listless, and, though I never would have admitted it to my father or brothers, afraid. Atar liked traveling to the far reaches of the land, even to the dark Outer Sea with its billowing waves. I did not love that ocean. I preferred the white beaches beneath Tirion, scattered with jewels and flooded in light. While the others scouted the rocky shores of the Outer Sea, I wandered down the beach with the Ambarussa, collecting the few shells we found there. We also often visited the house of Lord Aulë, the great smith of the Valar. I did not like that much better; Lord Aulë did not care for me as I disliked smith-work.

I tried asking Atar why we left, but he refused to speak to me. He did not speak much to any of us, save Curufinwë. I went to Makalaurë, in hopes of receiving answers. "Why, Maka?"

"Lord Melkor put Atar ill at ease," he replied.

I pondered this, troubled. "Did he tell you?"

"No. I heard it from Curvo."

I clenched my fists at his name, and left.

Several years passed. Curvo married a maid who lived on the moor, Serlis. I was surprised, since he had his choice of all the Noldorin and Telerin ladies, and even some among the Vanyar, so great were his charms. In the spring of the year we returned to our house outside of Tirion for a time, three years after Curvo's wedding, the great physicians told Maka and Eärlinel they were unable to have children. They returned to the house, Maka solemn as always and Eärlinel in tears.

And during that same time, my aunt, Eärwen, bore my uncle Arafinwë his fifth and last child: Artanis, most beautiful of all the house of Finwë. Shockingly, her family invited us to her first begetting day, when she would receive her name, and Atar actually allowed us to go.

We entered the nursery, an hour late, and the light talk of the rest of our family ceased as we did. I saw Írrisë standing beside Findekáno, her dark head lowered, and I caught my breath. I had not seen her in ever so long. Then I thought, _How disgraceful we must appear:_ Atar, everything about him tense, as if on the verge of fleeing; Maitimo, silent, but haughty, making all the small children cower; Maka, also silent, but dazed as well; Eärlinel hanging on his arm, her face red, trying hard not to start weeping again; the Ambarussa, too tall for their age, pushing each other and whispering; Tyelko, irreverent as always and making eyes at all the maids; Curvo, equally irreverent, poking and teasing Serlis constantly, inducing her highly irritating giggles; Ammë, stooped and weary, leaning on my arm; and last of all, me, Morifinwë, ugly and brooding as ever. No wonder everyone stopped talking as we arrived.

Írrisë would not look at me. None of her family would. Though Angaráto did glare at me several times.

One by one we came up to Eärwen and gave blessings to the newborn. As Atar went up to her and gazed at the baby, I saw his eyes narrow and a strange look came over his face. My heart chilled and filled with foreboding. I wished we had not come. I came up last. My aunt flinched a little as I approached her. I kept my distance and leaned so I could see better. My youngest cousin, babe though she was, was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. So small and perfect. Her hair shone golden, like that of the rest of her family, but also silver, in a strange way. The gold and the silver mingled, rather like the trees during the mingling of the lights. I gaped, until Ammë pulled me away.

"Morifinwë," Findaráto greeted me afterwards, grinning as always. "What say you to doing a little hunting after the meal?"

"Certainly." I wondered if Findekáno had told him about me and Írrisë.

"Can we come, too?" Pityo begged.

"Of course," Findaráto laughed.

I wanted to talk to Írrisë, but she kept avoiding me, or else one of her brothers warned me off. After the midday meal, we went out to the stables, the twins trailing behind. Then I saw Artaresto, Angaráto, and their youngest brother, Aikanáro, whose golden hair erupted from his scalp like fire. He didn't look quite as dignified as his brothers. Artaresto managed a fake smile, and Aikanáro just stared, but Angaráto glared at me, his blue eyes filled with hate. "Ah . . ." I began.

"Oh, they're coming, too," said Findaráto. His smile was starting to become annoying.

We saddled our horses in silence. Only the Ambarussa and Findaráto looked at ease. I did not want to be there. I wanted to run far, far away.

We rode out into the forest we used to hunt in long ago. The same forest by the cliff that Tyelkormo made me fell off of. The Ambarussa soon fell into easy conversation with Artaresto and Aikanáro. I began to feel dizzy, but I tried not to show it, keeping my horse at a slower pace than the others. Findaráto slowed his horse to match my pace, and looked at me, smiling. Angaráto kept glaring. "It is a sad thing," said Findaráto, "that we have not been able to get to know each other."

"Indeed." I didn't know what else to say, and my cousin lapsed back into silence. Findaráto was too gracious. Feeling the need to say something more, I cleared my throat and thought of a nice, safe subject. "It must be nice having a sister." My broken wish. Though I loved the twins.

Angaráto spoke before Findaráto could. "And if you do not want to inflict the wrath of the House of Arafinwë upon you, you will stay away from her."

"Angra!" Findaráto snapped, startling me. I had been wondering if he was capable of anger. Turning to me, composed once more, he said, "Forgive my brother, Morifinwë. He is a little hot-tempered."

I raised my head a little, and looked Angaráto in the eyes. "I forgive him."

Angaráto twitched violently, but Aikanáro suddenly raised his voice. "Shall we hunt?"

"Moryo, Moryo, I have an idea!" Telvo shouted, almost bouncing up and down in his saddle, causing his horse to kick at Angaráto's.

Unbidden, I blushed. "What?"

"Let's set fire to some of the trees. Then we stay on the far side of the fire and wait for the animals to come to us!"

Horror registered on Findaráto's face, and the others stared at Telvo with blank expressions. I wanted to disappear into ground. "Um, I don't think Lord Oromë would appreciate us burning down his forest," I said at last.

Telvo's face fell. "I like fire."

I rolled my eyes. Telvo's fascination with fire had almost cost us our house on multiple occasions. "We'll just hunt the normal way." I glanced at the others. Findaráto smiled again, but it wasn't as broad as before. Artaresto looked mildly traumatized. Aikanáro appeared preoccupied with his bow. Angaráto glared. I looked away, inwardly cursing. Why couldn't our family be like the other families of Valinor . . .?

* * *

 _ **Quenya/Sindarin Names:**_

 **Arafinwë - Finarfin**

 **Findekáno - Fingon**

 **Turukáno - Turgon**

 **Findaráto - Finrod**

 **Pityafinwë (Pityo) - Amrod**

 **Telufinwë (Telvo) - Amras**

 **Artaresto - Orodreth**

 **Angaráto - Angrod** **  
**

 **Aikanáro - Aegnor**

 _ **Last edited: 5/17/18**_


	12. Chapter XI

I went hunting many times after that with Findárato, whenever we strayed close to Tirion. Sometimes his brothers accompanied us, and when they did, we endured each other's presence, for Findárato's sake, at least on my part. He taught me many things, about tracking, how to spin a horse around in place, and some of the languages of the beasts (Tyelkormo knew them all, but he did not care to teach me; I do not know if he taught the others). Those were happy days, though I missed Írissë's company. I saw her sometimes, and she would sometimes smile at me, but she never approached me. I kept my distance.

We continued roaming about Aman, discovering all the secrets of the land, all the hidden corners, and all the strange beasts which dwelled there. I did not care for any of it. The darkness of the far lands hurt my head, and I missed Ammë.

 _Yes, the darkness hurt. They didn't understand, couldn't understand that Dark Finwë did not love the dark._

"Atar, the Feast of Kementári is nearly upon us," I heard Tyelko say to Atar as we rested by the Outer Sea, as we were wont to do. "Will we not tarry longer by Tirion next time so we may attend?" His eyes gleamed in a way I did not like, and I looked away, watching the Ambarussa play in the ocean, and pretended not to listen. But I remembered the Feast of Kementári, a celebration that came once every fifty years. Tables heaped with food of all kinds, the glorious bounty of all of Valinor, which never tasted better. Flowers and songs (Maka always graced us with something he wrote), and dances lasting all night. I dug my toes violently into the sand. I used to dance with Írissë; how long ago it felt.

I heard Atar growl. "You may attend if you wish, but I have no use for feasts."

He did not have much use for anything lately, I thought. When we were not riding through the forests or by the coast, he would sit by himself in his tent, doing _things._ I did not know what; Atar would only allow Curufinwë to enter, and my brother would not answer me when I asked him about it.

I didn't bother myself too much about it. Atar gave us leave to attend the Feast, and I could not help feeling excited.

It would also be the twins' first time going, and their excitement added to mine.

"Will there be many maidens, Moryo?" Pityo asked me. Having not been around females for so long, and now just starting to become interested in them, he was constantly asking me questions about them, as if I were an expert. Telvo, on the other hand, remained indifferent.

I sighed. "Oh yes. Many. They will have flowers braided into their hair. They will dance without shoes, and one fair maid of the Vanyar will catch your eye, Pityo, and you will dance with her all night, and come morning, you will ask her father if you may have her hand, and we will be celebrating your wedding that next night."

Pitya's eyes widened, and he looked at Telvo, who was stringing his bow. "Did you hear that, Ambarussa? I will marry one of the Vanyar." I rolled my eyes.

Maitimo came up at that moment and ruffled Pityo's hair. "Don't you know by now not to believe everything Moryo says?"

I scoffed. He spoke as if I teased them often.

He gave me a crooked smile. "But what of you, Carnistir? Is there some Vanyarin lady for you?"

I glared at him as the color rushed into my cheeks. He sighed. "Get over it. I want you to do something, for me."

I leaned back into the sand. "What?"

"At the Feast, I am going to find you a lady, and you will dance with her." After a moment, he added, "It is for you, too, obviously."

I sat up. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why must I dance with her?"

"Írissë still causes you grief, brother. I am trying to liberate you. Trust me."

I groaned. "Stay out of my affairs, Maitimo."

He shrugged and turned away. "Or just mope by the food and get fat."

Pityo giggled.

I glared at him.

* * *

"Are you attending the Feast of Kementári, Findárato?" I asked him the next time we went hunting, alone, and only a week before the Feast.

"Of course. It is one of my favorite celebrations." He grinned at me. "Do you recall that one Feast when Turukáno came in late, right as Uncle Ñolofinwë was announcing his family?"

Turukáno, usually so dignified, with his face bright red, his clothes rumpled, his dark brown curls flying every which way, and his eyes round with embarrassment. I laughed much harder than I should have, earning a pointed frown from Ammë, and a wink from Atar, one of the few times he seemed pleased with me, though now it seemed trite that he should be pleased with me for laughing at my cousin.

Still, I smiled at the memory.

"Is there a maiden you love?" I asked without thinking.

"Not yet."

 _Though every maiden in Valinor would coming running if he called,_ I thought, a little bitterly.

He cocked his head to the side. "What about you, Carnistir?"

I did not answer.

After a moment, he said, "Forgive me. I forgot." His voice was a whisper, gentle.

Unbidden, tears came into my eyes. I recalled Maitimo's request. I brushed away the tears and shook my head. "No. I will find another maiden at the Feast."

Findárato laughed, still gentle. "Is it that simple?"

"Perhaps not. But it is how Findekáno met Vamarië."

"True."

* * *

The night before the Feast, I awoke to a sudden chill which overcame the house. I wondered at this, as the house never got cold, not as long as I could remember. I wandered into the forge, knowing Atar and Curufinwë never put out the fire. I noticed some scattered pages on one of the worktables, and I absently glanced at them.

I saw careful sketches for some sort of jewel. Atar loved making jewels. My favorites were the palantíri. These ones appeared to be somewhat more ambitious. A little scrawl in the upper right corner of one of the pages caught my eye. Bringing it close to the smoldering forge, I made out the letters which spelled:

 _Silmaril._

* * *

 **Uh-oh.**

 **Please let me know what you think!**

 **Much love,**

 **Unicadia**

 ** _Last edited: 5/17/18_**


	13. Chapter XII

**In which Caranthir gets into even deeper trouble than he's already in (and we all know it's just going to keep getting worse).**

 **And I realized Pityafinwë's nickname is actually 'Pityo,' not 'Pitya.' Woops. :p**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The following morning, we rushed about like mad getting ready for the Feast of Kementári, which would be held in the great palace of my grandfather Finwë in Tirion. The twins kept haranguing Ammë with questions, until I took them outside to leave her in peace while she finished braiding Tyelko's long, silky silver hair. I had made myself as presentable as I could ever be. I had attempted straightening my hair earlier that morning, before anyone else awoke, but I only succeeded in burning part of it instead. I made do with tying the whole mess back with a red ribbon, to which Curufinwë commented I looked like a silly maiden on her way to a party. To which I nearly gave him a black eye, but then Atar entered the room, and I smoldered in silence.

I was still troubled from last night. I asked Ammë if she had noticed the chill, and she said she hadn't. I wanted to ask Atar about the sketches, but he was moody and irritable that morning. I avoided him.

At last, all was ready. Atar did not accompany us, but otherwise, the entire House of Fëanáro rode into Tirion in all its terrifying splendor. People flowed around us, children gaping in wonder, maidens giggling and blushing. One particularly bold maid strode up to Maitimo's horse and asked, a devilish grin on her face, "Lord Prince, may I have a lock of your hair?"

To my astonishment, he took out his knife, cut off a tiny red curl, and obliged her.

It took a long time weaving through all the crowds, and we made it to the palace about an hour after the festival started. We gave our horses to the grooms waiting outside, endured Ammë's last minute preening, waited while Ammë and Tyelko argued over whether or not Huan could join the festivities, and then, finally, strode into the palace like a gang of thugs. (Huan did not leave my brother's side.)

The vast banquet hall hung with garlands of flowers and baskets of fruit. Tables loaded with food lined the walls. In the middle of the hall, a few couples danced to the lively music playing on the dais. Although I had wanted to attend the Feast, I suddenly panicked and wanted to crawl into a hole. Telvo, glancing at me, remarked, "You're blushing again, Moryo."

"I know. Shut it."

"Peace, Carnistir," whispered Ammë. She turned toward us, her face also flushed, but probably from excitement. She gave us all an anxious smile. "Now, boys -"

Loud groan from Curufinwë. "Ammë, we're not boys anymore."

"Except for Moryo," Tyelkormo added.

I could have strangled him, but Ammë took my hand and squeezed it. I relaxed. "Sons," she began again, though firmer, "this is a special day. I expect you all to act your age and not to cause any trouble for anyone. That means no teasing your brothers, Tyelko. Ambarussa, do not eat too much like you did at Atarinkë's wedding. Makalaurë, do not wander off too far. You don't want to miss your time to play. Help him, Eärlinel. Atarinkë, please pay attention to more people than just Serlis, and be polite. Don't give me that look; I don't care that you're married, you still act like a brat sometimes." (Stifled laughter from all present, except Curvo, who looked close to exploding.) "Maitimo, don't spend the entire day with your cousin, please. And Carnistir, smile. Now I'm going to go find Indis. Behave." She swept away.

"'Carnistir, smile'," I mumbled to myself.

"Well, you never do," said Tyelko.

Maitimo pulled me away before I could rip out Tyelko's hair. "Do you trust me, Carnistir?"

I rolled my eyes. "Sure."

"I'll find a maiden for you, and you will dance at least once with her."

"Fine."

He frowned, but said nothing, and left me. I watched him approach a small group of maidens, who all began giggling and whispering among themselves. One of them fainted. I grumbled and crossed my arms. No maidens ever fainted around me. Though, now that I thought of it, it might be annoying.

While I waited, I watched the dancers. I saw my cousin, Findekáno, dancing with his wife, Vamarië. Findaráto danced with Írrisë (I tried not to care. Findarárato smiled when he saw me, but Írrisë ignored me as always.) Curvo and Serlis soon went out as well, at which point, I stopped watching. Their interactions always left me gagging, and dancing couldn't be much better. I located the rest of my brothers. The Ambarussa haunted the tables, and Pityo flirted with a Vanyarin lady as he attempted cramming a cream puff into his mouth at the same time. Telvo looked bored. Tyelko sprawled on a chair in the back, more interested in Huan than anything else, though I knew he would soon join Pityo (in both the food and the flirting). Maka and Eërlinel engaged in lively conversation with Uncle Arafinwë and Aunt Eärwen, who held little Artanis. I had to force myself to stop staring at her.

And Maitimo, talking to the maidens for me. I smiled a little. I wondered what he was telling them. Perhaps, "If I dance with you, will you dance with my ugly little brother?"

I tensed when Maitimo stepped away from the group, a lithe Vanyarin maid half his height on his arm. Oh dear. This was a bad idea. I felt my face turning red. They walked up to me, both with easy smiles. My, she was beautiful. I thought about running out the open doors into the gardens.

"Morifinwë, this is Amarië. Amarië, this is my brother, Morifinwë. He is a little shy, so treat him well." Maitimo winked and left us.

I almost bolted, but Amarië looked as shy as I felt. She blushed, her face turned away from me, her tiny white hands playing with the delicate sash around her waist. She wore a light pink gown which flowed around her like a dewy waterfall. A crown of pink flowers twined in her hair, her hair the color of Laurelin. I wondered why she volunteered to dance with me. I cleared my throat. "Did my brother promise to dance with you so you'd dance with me?"

She looked up at me, startled. "No." She offered me a tiny smile.

Feeling a little better, I made myself smile back. "Well, ah, shall we dance?"

When did I become so gallant?

Amarië nodded. I took her hand and led her out into the middle of the floor. Curvo saw us and momentarily lost his charm when he stepped on Serlis' foot and she slapped him.

I placed my hand on Amarië's waist, and she laid her hand on my shoulder. I looked down at her, feeling strange. Her smile widened a little. "Are you all right, Prince Morifinwë?"

"Yes, I am fine."

We danced.

The music flowed around us, never-ending. I didn't even notice when the music changed, and Makalaurë's sweet voice filled the room. All I saw were Amarië's eyes, like blue stars from the sky, like crystals from the shores of the sea.

And then the music stopped.

Tyelkormo came up to me, saying, "It's time to go, Lover-Boy."

I ignored him, and kissed Amarië's hand.

"Thank you," I whispered.

She blushed.

* * *

Maitimo rode close to me as we returned home in Telperion's soft light. I heard Pityo going off about the lovely maiden he met. Maitimo grinned at me. "That went better than I thought. You danced with her the entire time."

"I'm not raising my hopes."

"She seemed to like you."

I said nothing, but felt lighter in heart.

I really should not have raised my hopes.

* * *

 ** _Last edited: 5/17/18_**


	14. Chapter XIII

One day as we lingered at our house, Ammë took Telvo aside for several hours, causing Pityo more than a little distress. "We are always called together," he said.

"Yes, but you are still two different elves, despite your desire to meld into a singular entity," I told him dryly.

"Carnistir!" Maitimo, not as absorbed in his book as he appeared, reprimanded me.

Later, Atar summoned us all into the great hall of our house. "Sit according to age," he told us, though he seemed preoccupied as always.

Mystified by the formality, we did as told. Curvo was not present, and none of us knew of his whereabouts. After a little while, Ammë appeared with Telvo, who grinned at us, but his face was flushed. Ammë addressed us. "I have decided give Telufinwë Ambarussa a new name."

Pityo, sitting next to me, slumped a little in his chair. Though mother-names were always given later than father-names, I wondered why Ammë had tarried so long to give him a separate name. For some reason, I glanced at Atar; his face was rigid, his burning gray eyes distant. I sighed, then turned back to my mother and brother.

Ammë faced Telvo and said in a clear, dignified voice, "Telufinwë Ambarussa Fëanorion. I now give you this name of foresight." She closed her eyes and took a shaking, shallow breath. Then she opened them, blinking, as if tears were in her eyes. On my other side, Tyelko shifted in his seat. I brought my hands together and found them slick with sweat. I wiped them on my trousers. At last, Ammë spoke again, her voice not quite as strong as before. "Umbarto."

I blinked. _The Fated?_ Telvo looked thrilled, but I felt uneasy. I glanced at Atar again; he no longer looked so distant, and he frowned. As Telvo and Ammë embraced, he stepped forward, his mouth twisted in displeasure. I steeled myself.

"Nerdanel," he said, his voice softer than I'd heard it in a long time, "what kind of a name is that?"

I stifled my scornful laugh. Maka leaned out of his chair and gave me a warning look.

Ammë squared Atar's gaze, her chin up. "It is the name I gave him, Curufinwë. Must we argue over my choice again?"

They both glanced at us, lined up in our chairs, tense and uncomfortable, and I wondered if Atar and Ammë always argued over names. If they did, it was after the naming ceremonies.

"This is different. Do you like being called 'The Fated,' Telvo?"

Telvo shrugged.

I wished I had been asked if I liked being called "Dark" or "Red-Faced."

"It is my name of foresight. He is fated," Ammë insisted.

"Call him 'Ambarto,' instead," said Atar, as if he hadn't heard her.

 _Ambarto, Upwards-Exalted. To stroke his vanity,_ I thought.

Ammë said nothing. Atar appeared satisfied, and turned back to the rest of us. "You may go now." We filed out. As I left, I wondered what I was supposed to call my youngest brother now. Ambarussa? Umbarto? Ambarto? I decided to stick to Telvo.

* * *

The next day, I visited Amarië. We had maintained contact since the Feast. I could not tell if she was genuinely interested in me, but I enjoyed her company, soaking in her beautiful radiance, and trying not to faint when she held my hand or played with my hair. I did not know anything about her, though I asked her many things, for her answers never reached my ears. Perhaps I did not care about that. I cared only that she stayed with me and touched me, and that was enough.

Today we went to see my cousin Findaráto. I wanted him to meet Amarië. Then perhaps we could all go riding in the meadow.

"I think you will like him," I told Amarië as we rode down the streets to my uncle Arafinwë's house. "He is one of the few people who understand me."

Amarië cocked her head up at me, her eyes locking with mine, and a tingle of pleasure coursed down my spine. "You are still a great mystery to me, Prince Morifinwë."

I had told her countless times to drop the "prince," but she could not bring herself to do it. Some strange, secret part of me took great delight in hearing her say it, so at last, I did not correct her anymore. "Why is that?"

"You evade my questions and give me strange answers."

I looked away. I kept myself from her, out of reluctance and fear. Reluctance, since I did not really want to know her. (Fear – fear of what, I couldn't say. Perhaps it had something to do with Írrisë.) "Mayhap that will change someday." I did not know when.

We came to my uncle's house, and I asked for my cousin. We waited in the drawing room. Amarië leaned against me and plaited my hair into many tiny, frizzy braids. I was half-asleep, listening to the sound her breathing, basking in her warm proximity, shivering with pleasure when her fingers grazed my neck.

"Prince Findaráto," a servant announced.

Amarië untangled her fingers from my hair and we stood as my cousin entered. He smiled when he saw me, but then he froze as his gaze passed over Amarië, and his smile took on a quality I could not name but did not like. I felt Amarië stiffen next to me. I decided to ignore this. "Hello, Cousin," I greeted him. "This is Amarië. Amarië, this is my cousin, Prince Findaráto."

Findaráto bowed, and Amarië curtseyed. "Well met, Lady Amarië."

"Likewise," Amarië murmured, her eyes downcast.

I felt uncomfortable, and said, rather loudly, "I thought we could go riding in the meadow, us three."

Findaráto's usual sunny grin returned. "Ah, yes! That would be excellent."

But that proved fruitless. We rode in utter silence, and Findaráto and Amarië kept exchanging sidelong glances at each other, which I found irritating. Findaráto accompanied me when I saw Amarië home, and when the door closed, I turned on him, but tried keeping my words civil. "What do you think of her, Cousin? I met her at the Feast of Kementári." I dropped my voice. "I really like her."

I could not read Findaráto's face, which flickered a bit, but otherwise remained passive as he gazed upon the door she had retreated behind. "She is . . . she is quite . . . . lovely."

I frowned.

He inhaled and turned toward me, as if wakening from a dream, and smiled. "I congratulate you, Carnistir."

I did not smile. "Thank you."

"Were you . . . considering wedding her?"

"Yes." (Was I? Now I was.)

His smile remained, but I still could not read his face. "Oh. Well, congratulations."

I did not thank him again.

* * *

 **Okay, so first of all, I read somewhere that Nerdanel came up with 'Umbarto' much earlier, but decided to wait to give it to the twin it would suit best. I hadn't read that until recently, so I'm sticking with Nerdanel giving it to him later.**

 **Secondly, I hope I don't offend anyone with pairing Caranthir with Amarië. Trust me, it isn't going to last long. I just wanted to play around with another reason why Caranthir "loved not the sons of Finarfin." I do not think this is what happened at all, and that is true for a lot of what goes on in this story (such as I don't think Caranthir was this at odds with his brothers); but I like tossing around ideas and seeing what happened if certain small things changed.**

 **All that being said, this story is going to undergo a lot of editing. Nothing too major, just some cleaning up, especially when it comes to Caranthir's attitude and his interactions with his family, which I feel are a little extreme . . .**

 **Thank you so much for all the reviews! You guys are the best!  
**

 **Much love,**

 **Unicadia**

 _ **Last edited: 5/17/18**_


	15. Chapter XIV

**Update! Also, I have decided that instead of having the entire story in one huge three-part book, as was my original intent (hence the "Part I" you used to see at the beginning of each chapter), I'm going to split it up into three separate reasonably-sized books.**

 **Lilili: Thank you so much for the review! And Haleth will definitely be making an appearance later on. Not sure if it's going to be romantic or not, though. We shall see. :)**

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One day as I walked through Tirion with Amarië, we met Lord Melkor. We had come from the market, where I had bought Amarië a pair of gold earrings. She saw them at a vendor's stall, and ran over to them, her eyes shining. She did not often become excited, so I felt obligated to say, "I will buy them for you."

She blushed as I attempted putting them in her ears. Makalaurë and Tyelkormo wore earrings, but as I thought them vain and a nuisance, I did not know how to put them in. I kept pricking the side of Amarië's ear, mumbling, "Sorry" every few seconds, before I gave up and passed them to her to put in herself.

"Do not worry about it," she said, laughing a little. After the earrings were in place, we continued on our way.

As we came to a hill overlooking the sea, the tall figure of Lord Melkor loomed on the road ahead of us. He smiled when he saw us, and the unease I had felt when I first met him returned. Beside me, Amarië trembled and cowered behind me.

"Let us go," she whispered.

I nodded and turned around, but then the Vala called out, "Prince Carnistir!"

I stiffened; I did not like the familiarity with which he greeted me. Perhaps he did not know that only family and close friends used mother-names. Even Amarië did not call me "Carnistir." Still, it would be rude to ignore the Vala. I turned about and forced myself to smile back at him. Amarië's grasp on my hand tightened, and she pressed herself against my back.

"Lord Melkor," I said, bowing as he came up to us.

Amarië did a tiny curtsy.

"Prince Carnistir," he said, "I did not know you were courting." He turned his gaze on Amarië.

"This is Lady Amarië," I said stiffly.

"Pleased to meet you, lady." His smile widened as he gave her a little bow.

"If you will excuse us," I said, making to walk around him, but he stepped in front of us.

"I wanted to speak with you." His gold eyes flashed.

I waited.

"What is your father doing these days?"

"He works in his forge."

"I have heard wondrous things about your father's craftsmanship. What is he making?"

I shifted from one foot to another. _Silmaril._ "I don't know. Ask my brother, Curufinwë, or better, my father himself." I recalled what Maka said. _"Lord Melkor put Atar ill at ease."_

"Ah, your brother." He shook his head. "Your father's favorite, am I not right?"

I flickered. If it were anyone else, I would reprimand them for daring to speak such things. But even I knew better than to rebuke a Vala. Though Lord Melkor seemed to understand. We all knew Curufinwë was Atar's favorite, but this fact did not appear to bother any of the others. "Yes," I said simply.

"Curufinwë, your father's favorite, bearer of _his_ name – am I not right again? Strange how the fifth child should be named after your father and not the eldest, or even the second or the third." He locked his gaze with mine. "Or the fourth. You have been ignored, have you not?"

I slowly nodded.

He shook his head again. "This is strange indeed. I wonder – I wonder if your father is planning something."

I frowned. "What would he plan?"

"Your father is strong, powerful in will, like all his children, not the least of which is Prince Morifinwë Carnistir, with the hair like rose thistles and skin like Laurelin in a burnished sky."

I blinked. Never had anyone complimented me thus. I glanced down at Amarië to see if she caught it. She refused to look at Lord Melkor, and instead drew patterns into the back of my tunic with one delicate white finger.

Lord Melkor continued. "Prince Carnistir, shunned all his life, overshadowed by his elder brothers, and passed over by his father for his usurping younger sibling. His father would make Curufinwë lord over all the others and make them, elder and younger, bow to them. And Prince Carnistir would not be recognized for the might he possesses. He and his lady, Lady Amarië, should rise above the others, make Curufinwë pay for stealing the love of his father, make him bow before them."

Visions of Atar and Curufinwë, seated on identical thrones, glowering down on me as I knelt before them filled my head. As he said "Lady Amarië," a rush of passion surged through me. She would be my wife. We would become powerful in Tirion, putting Curufinwë to shame. Without thinking, I pulled Amarië around and held her against my side.

"Enjoy the rest of your walk," Lord Melkor said, bowing to us.

I returned the gesture, but Amarië did not curtsy this time. Smiling, Lord Melkor walked on past us. I watched him go, feeling a little dazed.

"Why did you let him speak to you?" Amarië hissed after he had gone.

I frowned down at her. "Why would I have not?"

She stared at me. "Do you not feel it? He is fell. Us Vanyar have nothing to do with him."

Irritation filled me. "'You Vanyar.' You think you are so high and mighty. You were being plain rude to Lord Melkor. He has many things to teach. Perhaps he is a little strange, but that is no reason for you to hide behind me like some cowardly child!"

Anger flitted through her eyes and then passed. Untangling her arm from mine, she pulled away and said in a quiet voice, "I respect you, Prince Morifinwë. I do not wish you any harm. But I cannot let you speak to me thus. If you indeed wish to have Lady Amarië by your side, you must humble yourself and amend the burning words you have thrown at me." She took out the gold earrings and held them out to me. I made no move to take them. She pursed her lips and laid them on the ground at my feet. Then she gathered up her pink skirts and strode away at a brisk pace.

Cursing and fuming, I returned home.

I left the earrings in the street.


End file.
